The Right Kind Of Wrong Girl. A. C. Meyer

I believed I had to save myself for the great love of my life, which I knew for a fact that was a likely story. But that guy standing in front of me was not like the other boys I knew. He was a man, in every sense of the word. His long hair was tied in a man-bun. His eyes were a shade of grey I’d never seen in my life. His brown skin, sun-tanned, contrasted with his bearded face and white-toothed smile. He was wearing a white T-shirt which hugged his body and washed-out jeans. Despite the bearded look and long hair, he didn’t seem sloppy, on the contrary. I shook my head, trying to organize my words.

      “I was making sure my classroom is here.”

      When he smiled, his expressions lines made his smile go all the up to his eyes.

      “What is your course? Fashion design?” he asked me, looking at me from the bottom up. What a cliché!

      “Law.” My answer came right away, which made him laugh.

      “Another rebel! Welcome to the family!” he laughed and pointed out to the building. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.”

      I nodded, feeling thankful, but suddenly realizing that I’d lost the ability to speak merely by standing next to that handsome stranger. He walked me to the building, craning his neck to look at my piece of paper to read the classes I was going to take.

      “Constitutional Law! Your classroom is right over there.” He pointed to classroom 101.

      “Thanks,” I replied, and he smiled back at me.

      “Rafael.” He introduced himself and offered his hand.

      “Malu,” I replied taking his hand.

      “I’ll see you around, Malu.” He smiled one more time and winked at me before he disappeared in hallway heading for another classroom.

      And that was the place, at the first day of boring Law school, that I met the man who stole the heart that I didn’t even know I had.

      Chapter two

      “Silvering the horizon, rivers and fountains shine, in a cascade of light.”

      Lulu Santos

      Rafa

      I keep walking straight ahead through the boardwalk, feeling the breeze coming from the sea. Starry night and warm weather: perfect for today’s plans. Almost ten o’clock on a Friday night. I’m a bit tired after hours on court watching hearings to complete my credits. Even though I’m dying to stay in bed after a hard-working week, missing Malu’s birthday party is not an option. She’s the youngest in our group, but by far the most fun. By the age of nineteen, Malu is the life of our parties and no deal is the same if she’s not there.

      Beto has arranged a luau at the beach near my house and the celebration has no time to end. I’m pretty close to the meeting point when my phone rings.

      “Yes?”

      “Rafaaaa! Where are you?” Malu asks me right away with music playing in the background.

      “I’m on my way, Malu. Almost there.” The sound of her laughter is enough to make me numb.

      At the same time Malu makes me feel overprotective, due to her fearlessness and sometimes even rashness, some aspects of her personality fascinate me. Her sexy laughter, the way she looks at me when she is not sure about what I’m talking about, her skin as white as moonlight contrasting to her hair, which is always dyed in a different fashion. From time to time, she changes her look to one that is suitable to only her and no one else: her hair tips have already been purple, green and blue. By the two years we’ve known each other, her hair, originally black, has already been colored red, brown and even blond. She looks like a small chameleon, changing colors according to her “state of mind”, as she usually says herself, even though I’d prefer her natural dark hair. Deep inside, I believe all those changes has something to do with her artistic spirit, as our friends usually say.

      “Okay, I’m waiting for you.” she says and then hangs up.

      She’s a sophomore student at Law school, and I know how unhappy she feels. She’s in college to please her family, who couldn’t care less about her, instead of pursuing her passion and studying what she really loves: art.

      When I arrive at the kiosk we settled as our meeting point, I can see people swarming around at the luau. There are about thirty people at the beach, chatting or eating snacks offered by the kiosk on an improvised table. Even from afar, I can see Malu next to Beto and Merreca, a college friend who got this nickname for always being broke and having almost no money in his pockets, as he usually claims – merreca means very little money in Portuguese. She’s wearing a loose white dress, with her bare feet touching the sand, dancing to a ballad someone’s playing on a guitar.

      Her hair is waved, not her usual straight fashion, running loose through her back. I’ve never seen her hair as long as it is right now. It makes her look innocent, something that doesn’t suit her exuberant personality.

      There’s only friendship going on between us. Since I first met her, looking lost in front of our college building on her first day of classes, I kind of adopted her and introduced her to my gang. We’re just friends, because I believe she’s too young for my twenty-two years of age. I’m at my senior year, preparing for my Bar examination and, even though she may arouse some reactions in my body, she’s too young.

      I step on the sand and feel cold grains touching my feet. I quickly take off my flip-flops and leave them next to other guests who are gathered in a corner. I greet some people and head towards the birthday girl. As if she can feel my presence, she turns around and smiles at my sight. Her eyes are shining bright, her lips are red, and there’s a cigarette in her hand.

      “Hey, young lady! Smoking already?” I come closer to see a sour expression on her face while she stretches her arms to hug me.

      “When you talk like that, you make me look like I’m fourteen, instead of nineteen. I’m a woman, Rafa, not a young lady,” she replies frowning her forehead but then she laughs and presses her body against mine. Is it just me or she’s been showing some curves lately?

      “Happy birthday, woman.” I tease her, making her laugh even more while she gives me a kiss on the cheek.

      “Thank you, handsome,” she replies winking an eye at me, while her hands caress my face where my beard used to be. “I miss your beard.”

      I sigh at the memory of having my hair cut the year before because of work. I had it cut, but not much, only enough to look suitable for my career, even though I can still feel some wild locks of hair near my neck.

      “Me too.” I smile and let go of her body, which was still against mine. I reach for her cigarette when something on her wrist catches my attention. After putting the cigarette in my mouth, I hold her inner wrist up high so I can look at it. “What’s this?”

      “What’s what?” she asks me while I look at the tattoo in her arm. An infinity symbol intertwined with a sentence from a Beatles’ song: You may say I’m a dreamer. “Oh! I had it done today. Do you like it?”

      My eyes move from the drawing to her pretty face before I smile at her.

      “It suits you.” She smiles back at me watching me take a drag on her cigarette. I don’t usually smoke, only when I go out to drink or when I’m feeling nervous. That day, I’m a bit of both. I’m certainly going to drink, but I also feel strangely restless feeling her body so close to me. She takes the cigarette out of my hands. “I’m going to talk to the guys and catch a beer,” I say, to which she nodded in agreement.

      I say hello to the guitar guys and move away, heading to other friends who were already there. After I talk to everybody, I take a beer followed by Leo, my best friend.

      “I don’t know how much further you’re going to resist this,” he says. I look at him curiously.